


And When It All Goes to Hell

by PadawanRyan



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots Learn to Communicate, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not-Famous Patrick, Win a Date Contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadawanRyan/pseuds/PadawanRyan
Summary: Patrick had spent two hours sitting there and feeling his stomach sink further and further as he came to the conclusion that he was afraid of all along: Pete Wentz didn’t want to takePatrickon a date.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	And When It All Goes to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've been working on this for _months_ , which may seem strange considering the fact that it's less than 8K and I could probably have written this all in one day. Actually, most of it _was_ written over the course of yesterday and today, but I wrote the first part of it about...a couple months ago, and then just stopped. I didn't really lose interest in it because I had been thinking about the fic almost constantly, but for some reason I closed the document and couldn't bring myself to open it back up...until yesterday.
> 
> I often say that most of my fics practically write themselves, that I don't know where they're going until I'm actually writing them, and that's usually true. I don't usually plan things ahead of time and everything is kinda just made up on the spot. I figured that I might never get back to this fic - I often write short oneshots because I struggle with opening a fic back up and continuing it after closing the document - but I couldn't stop thinking about it, to the point of actually planning everything out. Besides a select few parts that were made up on the spot (I planned Patrick's song but not Pete's), this is probably _the_ most thought-out fic that I've written in years.
> 
> Possibly ever, because even my old chaptered fics didn't have a plan — I usually made up what was going to happen next as I wrote each next chapter. As a result, I hope that this is actually good considering all the time that went into it.

As soon as he got the chance, he was going to _wring Joe’s neck_. It was all his fault that happened.

Patrick refused to take responsibility for the fact that although _Joe_ gave him the idea, it was _he_ who actually entered the contest — he who actually put his name forward and, for some reason, actually _wanted_ to win.

He also refused to shoulder responsibility on Pete Wentz, who didn’t even bother to show up.

It was a stupid idea — that was what he kept telling Joe when his best friend linked him to the “Win a date with Pete Wentz” contest. The contest was open to everyone in the United States and there was no possible way that Patrick was going to win a date with the gorgeous musician whose posters covered the walls of his bedroom. Patrick had been obsessed with Pete since his first album came out, since he was able to look past the voice and listen to those _beautiful, beautiful words_ , but Patrick was just an average college student who never won _anything_ and would not possibly win a date with Pete Wentz.

However, against his better judgement and whatever he said to Joe over Discord, he decided to enter anyway because what did he really have to lose?

His dignity, apparently. Because he had spent about two hours sitting at the restaurant table where he was supposed to meet _Pete fucking Wentz_ after winning that fucking contest, and yet…no Pete. The musician hadn’t bothered to show up, nor did he even have his agent or _who the fuck ever_ call Patrick to cancel or reschedule. No, Patrick had spent two hours sitting there and feeling his stomach sink further and further as he came to the conclusion that he was afraid of all along: Pete Wentz didn’t want to take _Patrick_ on a date.

So, Patrick eventually texted an _“I hate you”_ to Joe and tried to slip out of the restaurant as subtly as possible.

Upon returning to his dorm, he immediately began tearing the Pete Wentz posters down from his wall. How could he idolize such an asshole? Posters torn around his feet, Patrick collapsed to his knees and just cried—he would deny it to anyone who asked, but he was seriously heartbroken by the whole situation. Pete Wentz was _everything_ to him and he would do _anything_ for the man, and yet the musician couldn’t even bother to show up for his _own fucking contest_. What had Patrick even done to deserve this? Maybe he was chosen as a joke — or maybe Pete didn’t want to show up because Patrick wasn’t some gorgeous chick who would put out at the end of the night. Either way, Pete Wentz had made a _fool_ out of him and Patrick was not going to give the man _any_ of his time ever again.

But before he could enact that promise to himself, Patrick decided to write a Facebook post outlining his disappointment in the man.

It managed to rack up over 50,000 shares by morning.

* * *

“Pete?” a knock came to his hotel room door and Pete recognized the voice of his agent on the other side. “Are you decent?”

“Come on, Andy. You know I’m never decent.”

Andy seemed to take that as confirmation that yes, he could enter, because while Pete’s eyes were closed and he could not _see_ the other man enter the room, he did hear the door click closed and footsteps approaching his bed. He had absolutely no interest in getting up early this morning – or getting out of bed at all, because while the previous day had certainly been a _worse_ day, he wasn’t exactly feeling much better – but he knew that if Andy was going to insist on talking to him today that it must be important. Andy knew better than anyone – except maybe Pete’s family – how this worked, so Pete could trust that Andy knew what he was doing.

Opening his eyes and rolling over, he peered up at his agent. “Well, lay it on me.”

“There’s a situation,” Andy told him almost apprehensively as he sat down on the edge of the bed. It was as though he was afraid to tell Pete what was happening. When the other man didn’t elaborate, Pete finally asked, “what sort of situation?”

“Do you remember what you were supposed to do yesterday?”

Pete couldn’t even remember what he ate for breakfast the previous day. Did he even have breakfast? “No.”

“The ‘win a date’ contest. You were supposed to take that kid out to dinner.”

Oh. That. Pete could almost let out a breath of relief, because he was worried that it was something _important_ , but the serious look on Andy’s face kept him from even doing that. “Fuck, we didn’t tell the contest winner that I was unavailable?” he asked, rubbing the palm of his hand into his eyes as he tried _not_ to think about the morose feeling that had been overtaking his brain for the past day.

“No.” Andy looked a little guilty as he continued, “I delegated the task to someone who…let’s just say they didn’t take their job seriously and, as a result, no one relayed the message.”

“Fuck. We’re gonna have to apologize to the kid, aren’t we?”

He could tell by the look on Andy’s face that he was being a bit of an asshole – of _course_ they should apologize to the kid – but considering everything Pete was already dealing with inside his head, Andy appeared not to voice that opinion. Pete was thankful for that.

“Actually,” Andy began again, “it might be a little late for that.”

Pete almost sat up at that, because _oh no_ , Andy actually almost sounded distressed. _Almost_. “What happened?”

“Well, Mr. Stump – the contest winner – was reasonably upset. He apparently showed up to the restaurant and waited around for a while and, when you didn’t show up, decided to just return home, where he wrote a…strongly worded Facebook post about you.”

Pete _did_ sit up at that, reaching for the phone that Andy was holding out to him. “Is that it?” he asked. “Many people have written ‘strongly worded’ posts about me.”

“Just read it, Pete.”

As Pete read through the kid’s words, he could almost feel exactly what the kid must have been feeling because wow, he wrote with such passion. The words might not have been the most dramatic on their own – Pete couldn’t help but imagine how _he_ might have written this had he been in this situation – but the kid clearly knew how to convey his emotions and it _hurt_. Pete could tell just by reading this viral Facebook post that the kid was _shattered_ , that his faith in anything to do with Pete Wentz had been destroyed. The kid entered the contest so clearly he had been a fan, but Pete knew now that it was unlikely that the kid would listen to another Pete Wentz song ever again. There was no denying it: he had let him down.

And _fuck_ , that was the worst feeling in the world. Pete hated knowing that he had let anybody down.

“Fuck…Andy, we’ve got to do something.”

Andy nodded. “I was hoping you would say that. I’ll give you a few hours to work yourself up to getting dressed, but we need to do some damage control and _soon_.”

* * *

People had been messaging Patrick all day and he was almost at his wit’s end, having to explain the situation over and over and over again to everyone. Why did everyone care so much about the fact that he didn’t like Pete Wentz anymore? The man was an asshole.

Joe, at least, had been quite apologetic. “I didn’t know that was gonna happen,” he told Patrick, and Patrick believed him. Joe had just been trying to be a good friend.

But some people were less understanding, constantly trying to tell Patrick that Pete was a busy man and they were sure that he had a reasonable explanation for his absence. Frankly, that was not what Patrick wanted to hear. Plus, if he _did_ have a reasonable explanation for his absence, why would he not even reach out to Patrick? Why not get an agent or something to call him and cancel or reschedule? Patrick would have been bummed if it had been outright cancelled instead of postponed, but he would have preferred that to sitting alone in that restaurant and looking like an idiot.

So, Patrick couldn’t exactly be blamed for answering his phone, “fuck off about Pete Wentz!” without even checking to see who was calling.

 _“Mr. Stump?”_ an unrecognizable voice on the other end asked.

“Umm?” Patrick was confused and embarrassed and wasn’t sure what to say. “Yes?”

_“My name is Andrew Hurley and I’m Mr. Wentz’s agent. I just wanted to issue you a direct and formal apology for what happened last night. A personal issue arose for Mr. Wentz and he was unable to make the event, and there appears to be some sort of confusion over whether or not the message had been delivered to you. If you are amenable, I would like to reschedule the event with you myself so that we can be assured that there are no more mix-ups.”_

“Ummm?”

 _“Since Pete does have a tour coming up, we do have limited time,”_ the agent explained, _“but if you are available, I can pencil you in for tomorrow night.”_

Patrick’s mind was reeling. “No.”

_“I’m sorry?”_

“No,” Patrick repeated. “Look, I get that you want to protect Pete’s image and all that, but the fact is that he left me sitting there like a loser. He can’t just erase everything that made me feel by giving a half-hearted apology through his fucking agent and then setting me up for it to happen again. No,” he repeated yet again, “I am _done_ with Pete _fucking_ Wentz.”

Before Mr. Hurley could say anything more, Patrick ended the call and threw his phone down on his bed. Pete fucking Wentz could go to fucking Hell.

* * *

“He’s not taking my calls anymore, Pete,” Andy informed him. “Maybe we should consider just issuing a public apology and letting the kid move on with his life.”

“No.” Pete was resolute. “I really hurt that kid and I’m not gonna let that go.”

“Pete, it wasn’t—”

“Don’t you dare say it wasn’t my fault. I was supposed to be there and I wasn’t. It doesn’t matter why or who didn’t pass on the message, it was _me_ who let the kid down and it’s _me_ who has to fix it. And I will,” he explained, because that was the plan. Pete was going to fix it.

Andy crossed his arms and leveled Pete with _a look_. “So how do you plan to do that?”

That was the easy part. He could put himself inside Patrick’s shoes, because he looked up the kid who had won the contest: Patrick was a music student at the local college, didn’t really use social media unless he _really_ had something to say, and didn’t really share a lot about himself besides that he _really_ liked Pete Wentz. Like, _idolized_ Pete Wentz. If someone didn’t know any better, they could assume that Patrick’s whole personality was twisted up in that idolization of Pete, but well, Pete could read between the lines. The kid had a passion and he just needed an outlet for it because – as Pete knew from his own obsessions – people hadn’t been to receptive to hearing about “Pete this” and “Pete that” all the time and probably shut him down.

And goddamn, it should be creepy, but Pete remembered being twenty years old. It was only five years ago. He would have done the same thing. Actually, if people had cared to look for his own old social media accounts, they would probably see that he _had_ done the same — except Pete had the benefit of people finding it to be the _endearing_ “before he was famous” backstory. He was pretty sure that even Mikey found it endearing.

Not that he wanted what happened with Mikey to happen with Patrick. They were still friends, but it was awkward sometimes.

“Well, it’s simple,” Pete stated. “I call him myself.”

“That’s it?”

“What, you expected grand gestures? Because I can totally do that,” Pete explained, “but I think what he really wants is to hear from _me_ directly.”

He could tell that Andy didn’t agree with his plan, but the fact that he wasn’t speaking out against it further was at least concession enough that it wasn’t a dangerous plan. Pete was more than experienced in listening to Andy tell him what not to do (and then doing it anyway), so if Andy wasn’t telling him not to do it, then he was in the clear. “Okay, so you called him last, right? Can I have his number?”

“Just take my phone.” Andy held out his phone to Pete. “He’s in the recent calls list.”

“No, he’ll see your number and ignore it. I need to call.”

But Pete still grabbed Andy’s phone because at least he could go into the recent calls list and copy out the kid’s number on his own phone. He was serious about fixing this situation, not because it was his image at stake – Pete Wentz was known to be a bit of an asshole and a dumbass, so nobody would be surprised by this – but because he genuinely felt bad for the kid. He felt as though he had some sort of connection to this kid, and Pete knew he would never forgive himself if he gave up and let the kid’s passion die. At the very least, if the kid was going to hate him forever, it wasn’t going to be due to lack of effort on his part.

 _“Hello?”_

Pete grinned when he heard the voice on the other end. He’d never heard Patrick’s voice before, but it was somehow not what he had expected and exactly what he had expected at the same time. “Is this Patrick Stump?” he asked.

_“Yes, this is Patrick. Who is this? It’s not another one of Pete Wentz’s fucking agents, is it?”_

“It’s not one of my ‘fucking agents’, and despite what they say about me, I don’t hire people specifically to fuck me,” he responded, going for casual and sarcastic.

Pete ignored him when Andy muttered, “you don’t hire _anyone_ , that’s my job.”

There was a snort on the other end of the phone. _“You don’t expect me to believe this is actually Pete Wentz himself, do you? I’m not stupid, Pete Wentz would never call me. Who is this really? Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny.”_

“No, I’m actually Pete Wentz. And you’re Patrick Stump. There! Now we’re introduced!”

_“Not funny. I’m hanging up now.”_

“Wait, Patrick—”

_“Fuck off.”_

As Patrick cut the call, Pete thought about how angry the kid sounded. He really fucked up with the date thing, didn’t he? And what was it the kid had said? _“Who is this really? Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny.”_ He thought that Pete was playing a joke on him, that someone was pretending to be Pete Wentz — did that actually happen to the kid? Pete knew that even college-aged adults were pretty damn cruel and he had no doubt that, with Patrick’s Pete Wentz obsession being pretty open, someone had tried that with him before. Well, fuck, he managed to hurt the kid again.

Pete really had a lot to make up for now.

* * *

Things were starting to calm down a bit. It had been a couple days and the calls had stopped. No more people asking about Pete Wentz or calling on behalf of Pete Wentz.

Or pretending to _be_ Pete Wentz.

Patrick couldn’t help but think that maybe – _just maybe_ – it had actually been Wentz calling him, but that was impossible. Pete Wentz would never call him. Pete Wentz didn’t even want to have dinner with him in a public place where he didn’t have to talk to him if he didn’t want to – he could just eat the entire time and nobody would blame him because _it was a fucking restaurant_ – so there’s no way he would call him personally. No way at all.

However, he couldn’t get the whole situation out of his bed because like, this was the worst thing that ever happened to him.

And it wasn’t Joe’s fault. He forgave Joe. It also wasn’t his fault, because he didn’t do anything.

No, it was _Pete Wentz’s fucking fault_.

He couldn’t help but still feel angry and hurt by it, even after Pete’s supposed agent had called him several times to reschedule. Actually, that made him even angrier because the man just kept reminding Patrick that it had happened, and it stirred up his feelings all over again. He wanted to put this whole fucking Pete Wentz situation behind him and nobody would let him — but now that it seemed people were easing up and leaving him alone, suddenly _he_ couldn’t leave himself alone about the whole thing. Laying on his bed, he grabbed his pillow and smothered his face with it so that he could _fucking scream_. It wasn’t fucking fair, why did this have to happen to him? What did Patrick do to deserve this?

Then, suddenly, an idea came to him. _Of course_.

Before the tune could escape from him, he grabbed his guitar from the foot of the bed and began crafting the physical manifestation of his feelings.

* * *

Pete was thinking about what else he could possibly do to fix the situation with Patrick when Andy walked in and said, “Pete, I think you need to see this.”

This time Andy had a laptop with him, which he placed down on the bed in front of Pete, right beside his own laptop, with a Soundcloud page open on the screen. One look told him that it was Patrick’s Soundcloud – and of course he should have expected that, the kid was a _music_ student, _of course_ he was creating music – and it took only seconds for Pete to notice that there was a new track uploaded. There was not much of a description given below the title but what it did say caught Pete’s attention immediately: _“This is for Pete Wentz. Fuck you.”_

Ouch. That actually hurt.

Though, he supposed, he _actually hurt_ the kid first, so maybe that was deserved.

The song, however — the song took Pete’s breath away. Not the lyrics, because the lyrics were definitely bitter and hurt and reminded Pete of how much he fucked up by skipping out on his date with the kid, even if he _was_ having one of his bad days. No, what took Pete’s breath away was that this kid _wrote that music_ and _recorded that music_ and holy fuck, did he have a band? Pete needed him signed, it would be criminal to let that voice go unheard.

Something must have shown on his face because when he looked up at Andy, the man looked…indescribable. Andy had a good poker face, but it wasn’t often that Pete couldn’t read his expression. “[The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLqlk7b7iaA)?”

“It has hope, doesn’t it?” Pete thought aloud. “I mean, he’s holding on…and the whole ‘will you be able to tell me sorry with a straight face’? He _wants_ an apology.”

“Pete, I’m not so sure—”

Pete _was_ sure. If there was anything he knew, it was lyrics. He knew what lyrics meant, even when his own lyrics sounded nonsensical. And what he knew from this song was that although it was bitter and angry, it was hopeful. He had a chance of fixing this thing with Patrick, but it was going to take more than just a failed phone call from either himself or Andy. Patrick’s language was music, right? He expressed his feelings through music (well, and Facebook). Pete was a famous musician, he could totally speak the same language.

An idea began to form in his head. “How soon can we get the band into the studio?” he asked.

“It depends on how busy they are. Why, what—”

“Can you pass me a notebook? I have some lyrics that I need to write out before they disappear, and Patrick _needs_ to hear them.”

* * *

“Patrick, you _need_ to hear this!” Joe exclaimed as Patrick returned to their dorm room after class several days later.

“I’m not watching another one of those YouTube videos, I don’t _care_ what that dumbass has been doing and I don’t know _why_ he’s so fam—”

Joe was shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not YouTube. It’s _Pete Wentz_.”

God, Patrick thought this was over with, done, and in the past. Was he going to have to hear about Pete Wentz every day for the rest of his life? “I told you Joe, I’m done with Pete Wentz and I don’t want to hear a single thing about him ever again. I am no longer in love with him and frankly, he’s not even that good a musician anyway—”

“I promise you Patrick, you _want_ to hear this one.”

Joe’s face was so earnest that Patrick couldn’t help but sigh and relent. “Okay, what is it?”

His roommate flipped his laptop around to show Patrick the musician’s official Facebook page, where there was a new post. Okay, so the guy’s social media team was posting — he was a famous musician, that happened. However, the post didn’t seem to be written by his social media team because _surely_ they could come up with something more professional. This looked like a random jumble of words that only miraculously happened to pull together to create a meaningful piece. This had to have been written by Pete himself, and it was _an apology_.

To _Patrick_.

 _“I heard your song,”_ the musician wrote, _“and it broke my heart. I’m sorry for breaking yours. Please let me do right by you.”_

And there was…a link.

To a song.

 _Pete fucking Wentz_ wrote _Patrick_ a song.

This had to be a dream. Patrick was barely aware of himself as he reached forward to Joe’s laptop and clicked on the link, because what _the fuck_ was going on? The music, as the song began, had a bit of an upbeat sound but Patrick could immediately understand what was happening when he heard the lyrics. This was Pete’s apology. Patrick had written a song about Pete after that whole date fiasco and Pete had _written him a song in return_ , and oh god, he actually sounded _really fucking earnest_ in his lyrics. _“[I know I’m not your favourite record](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qL02p9KhABo)” — _Patrick, despite his anger at the man, felt his own heart break at that because he wanted to reach out and say, “yes you are!”

His eyes were watering by the time the song came to an end and Patrick couldn’t think for a moment. Joe was looking at him expectantly, but he couldn’t find his voice. “Patrick?” his roommate finally asked. “Are you okay?”

Patrick shook his head at first, but then nodded. “No—yes—I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“He wrote you a song, Patrick.”

“Yeah, yeah, I gathered that,” he choked out, wiping his eyes. “Only fair, I guess, since I wrote him one first.”

“But,” Joe began slowly, “what are you going to do about it?”

What could he do about it? There was no way he could actually _talk_ to Pete Wentz. The man was a mega celebrity, and even after writing a _song_ about Patrick, there was no way he would be taking messages or calls from random college students. The song was probably just to save face anyway — give it some spectacular heartbroken apology meaning and it would become a popular hit overnight, right? So, there was no reason for Patrick to do anything. Pete Wentz was an asshole and he had no obligation to the man, song or not.

“Nothing. I’m doing nothing.”

* * *

It had been a week and Patrick still hadn’t called. There hadn’t been a single social media post acknowledging the song, and Pete would probably have bitten off all his nails if he didn’t hate the taste of nail polish. It was good for one thing, at least, besides looking cool.

Andy had tried to reason with him. “Pete, you tried. The kid obviously doesn’t want to hear from you, so you should move on.”

He couldn’t just _move on_. This was more than just about making it up to some heartbroken kid after leaving him hanging for the ‘win a date’ event. Patrick had somehow wormed his way right into Pete’s heart with that gorgeous, innocent face in his few social media posts, with that amazing voice and beautiful music, with his passionate words about how destroyed he was by Pete’s failure to show — if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that he was falling for the kid. And that was silly, because he didn’t even know the kid and how could he possibly fall for someone he’d never even met? Not to mention never even spoken to, besides a few words over the phone when Patrick didn’t even realize it was Pete on the other end.

And yet, Pete knew himself. He felt hard and fast and he was _falling_ for Patrick.

Which meant that he had to fucking _fix this_.

Because there was no way he was going to just let it go. The kid had idolized him at one point, and he managed to turn the whole thing around in one night, and sure, that made him feel bad. But now he just felt bad because he _wanted_ Patrick’s love and approval, and not getting it was tearing at his heart. If Patrick still didn’t love him at the end of it, then that was fine. He would accept that he had fucked up and that maybe he had never been deserving of the kid’s affection in the first place. Maybe Pete was just a phase in the kid’s life and he was over it. But he had to at least _try_ , because he would hate himself otherwise.

Well, hate himself _more_ than he already did. Pete was a master at the whole self-deprecation thing.

“I’ve got one more plan up my sleeve,” he told his agent, whose stance seemed to suggest that he was holding back what he _really_ wanted to say to the musician. “And if it doesn’t work, then I promise you that I’ll let it go and move on.”

* * *

Patrick was a bit of a heavy sleeper – he’d slept through earthquakes and parties and all sorts of things before – but a loud crash in his room was enough to wake him up.

“Joe? What the fuck are you doing?” he asked groggily. “It’s the middle of the night.”

He heard a grunt from the other bed, suggesting that Joe was, in fact, still asleep. But he barely had time to register the fact that the crash _obviously_ wasn’t Joe when another voice responded, “sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” And goddamn, he _knew_ that voice.

Patrick sat up immediately and reached for his glasses. Not that he would see too well in the dark anyway, but he was courteous enough not to turn on the lamp while his roommate slept. Once his glasses were on, he could make out the silhouette of someone on the floor, with everything that had previously been on his desk scattered on the floor around him. At least his laptop was tucked away in his bag because he _really_ didn’t want to worry about buying a new one just because some asshole had broken into his dorm room in the middle of the night. The window was open so Patrick had to assume the man had come in through it, which was fucking stupid considering Patrick lived on the fourth floor of the building.

“What the _fuck?_ Are you _stalking me_ now?” Patrick asked, unsure of how else to respond to a _famous musician_ climbing in through his bedroom window.

“Uhhh, maybe? I’m no good at this shit and like, yeah, I guess I have been trying to find out as much as possible about you and it didn’t take me long to discover that you went to school here, that’s on your Facebook, but finding out which _room_ was another story altog—”

God, could the man ever ramble. That was something he never knew about Pete Wentz, he certainly didn’t sound like _this_ in interviews.

“Let me rephrase,” Patrick began. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Umm?” Patrick really wished he could see the man’s face because the darkness was not giving him anything. “I wrote you a song?”

“And that means you can just break into my room when I’m trying to sleep?”

“Yes? I mean, no! No, of course it doesn’t. But like, I couldn’t get you out of my head? After I wrote the song?” Every statement sounded like a question, as if Pete was not even sure what he was saying. “Even before I wrote the song, actually, because like, you’re you and I’m me and you’re so fucking talented and I don’t deserve my fame, but _you_ , you deserve _everything_ , and I just want to give you the world. You’re beautiful and perfect and _that voice_ , oh my god, _that voice_ — please tell me that you’ll sing for me if I ask, because otherwise I think I might die. You will sing for me, won’t you?”

What the _hell_ was going on? “What?”

“Right, sorry, I came on too strong.” Pete had crawled up off the floor but had nowhere to go in the tiny dorm room, so he was stuck standing beside Patrick’s bed. “I’ll just, I’ll go, okay? I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, and I’m an asshole, and you don’t deserve me or _this_ and I’ll just stay out of your hair, okay? I’m—”

“Pete. Stop.”

And wow, since when did he speak to _Pete fucking Wentz_ on a first name basis?

“I’m sorry, you don’t have—”

“Pete,” Patrick repeated. “Stop. You’ve said your piece, now it’s my turn to say mine.”

Patrick’s eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, because he was starting to see something of Pete’s face. The man’s expression was extremely nervous, as though he was afraid Patrick was just going to throw him right back out the window, and that made Patrick think carefully about what was happening. First: Pete Wentz had broken into his dorm room in the middle of the night. Second: Pete Wentz had _apologized_ , though Patrick still wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for the date thing or for disturbing his sleep.

Third: Pete Wentz had complimented _the fuck_ out of Patrick and seemed _scared of him_. How on earth did he get into these situations?

“I heard your song. It was an apology, right?” he asked. Pete nodded his head fervently. “Okay, so you’re sorry. But – and this is the big question – how does that warrant _breaking into my dorm in the middle of the night?_ Because this? This is kinda creepy.”

Pete seemed to be at a loss for words. “I…it’s just…I don’t…”

“How did you even get in here anyway? I’m on the fourth floor, you would have to climb up the side of the building.”

“Oh, I’m…good at that sort of thing? I mean, I’m no good at the talking about my feelings shit because I always fuck something up and god, you probably fucking hate me right now and I don’t blame you _at all_ , but I’m actually good at the stalkery shit?” Pete was scratching the back of his neck nervously as he babbled. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that because now you’re gonna think I’m a major creep – more than you already do – and you’re gonna kick me out and tell the world that Pete Wentz is gonna accost them in their sleep and—”

“Woah, woah, woah. Pete. Stop. Calm down.”

By some miracle, Pete stopped. Patrick took a breath before speaking again. “Okay,” he began, “start from the beginning. What are you doing here?”

“Apologizing.”

Okay, that was straightforward and simple. Patrick could work with that. “Apologizing for what?”

“For not making our date. For not calling. For letting you sit there alone and wonder if it was all some big, cosmic joke. For breaking your heart. For being Pete Wentz.”

He was apologizing for being Pete Wentz? That was definitely something they were going to have to get to because that wasn’t the issue at all – unless Pete Wentz was just an asshole, as Patrick had been calling him, and that’s what he was apologizing for – but there were more important things to discuss first. Patrick really needed to get to the bottom of everything and ensure that Pete understood exactly what the problem was, because he wasn’t going to let the gorgeous musician charm him with a fake apology.

“Why didn’t you come?” he asked, not even sure he _wanted_ to know the answer.

Pete hesitated. “It’s…personal, I can’t—”

“Pete, I need to know the answer. This is important. I don’t know you and I can’t trust you, and I can’t accept your apology unless you’re willing to trust me in return.”

The musician nodded. “Right. Okay. Ummm,” and god, he really did look like he was going to pass out or have a panic attack now, “I’m bipolar. The media doesn’t know that, I don’t advertise it because people have all these ideas of what it means to be bipolar and none of them are right, and I don’t want them making up shit about my brain, you know? And sometimes I get these days, they’re really _bad_ days, and I just…can’t get out of bed. Everything in my head is both empty and full at the same time, I can’t think or do anything and I just hate myself and…I can’t do anything about it because _I can’t do anything_ , and it’s hard, you know?”

Patrick didn’t know, but he understood what it was like to hate himself sometimes. “And you had one of these days on…the day of the date?” he guessed.

“My agent is pretty good with those days. Andy, he called you after to apologize, right?” Patrick nodded. “He’s good. The people who work under him, though…not so good. Whoever was supposed to call you to reschedule…well, for whatever reason, they didn’t. And we were too caught up in, well, _me_ to confirm whether or not you got the call.”

“Oh.” Well, that actually made sense. And kinda made Patrick feel like the asshole now.

“We should have. I mean, I wouldn’t have been able to think of anything at the time anyway – I couldn’t even remember what day it was – but still, I should have done _something_ —”

“Pete, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s _not_ fucking okay, because I hurt you and you don’t _deserve_ that, and—”

Patrick reached out and grabbed Pete’s arm, which seemed to render the man speechless. He was touching Pete Wentz. He was touching _Pete fucking Wentz_ and somehow it was Pete Wentz who looked more amazed at the touch than Patrick.

“I accept your apology.”

Pete still looked amazed. Actually, Patrick would even go so far as to say that Pete Wentz looked _ecstatic_. His eyesight must really have adjusted to the dark because he could make out almost every single detail of Pete Wentz’s _seriously fucking happy_ expression. The other man looked so happy that Patrick couldn’t help letting his guard down and smiling at him, demonstrating that everything was perfectly okay between them. Well, it wouldn’t be _perfectly_ okay for a while – there were still a lot of hurt feelings to work out that wouldn’t disappear overnight – but Patrick actually felt confident that he was going to work them out. _With Pete Wentz_.

It did, however, come out of nowhere when the musician leaned down, took Patrick’s face between his hands, and kissed him hard right on the mouth. It was probably just a reflex – Pete was happy and that’s how he expressed his happiness, he _kissed_ people – but Patrick didn’t care because _Pete fucking Wentz_ , his motherfucking _idol_ , was _kissing him_.

But before he had the chance to even return the kiss, the other man’s lips were gone as quickly as they had come.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, that’s sexual harassment, isn’t it? I didn’t ask for consent, and you’re gonna tell everyone that Pete Wentz sexually harassed you, and—”

Patrick was feeling bold, and instead of telling Pete to stop this time, he curled his fist into the other man’s shirt and yanked him back down to his mouth. This time it was Pete who was shocked on the other end, but it didn’t take long for Pete’s lips to begin _moving_ , and _oh god_ , they were fucking _making out_. Patrick was _making out_ with _Pete fucking Wentz_. He opened his mouth and met the other man’s tongue just as Pete’s hands came to Patrick’s arms, holding him in place as though he thought Patrick would come to his senses and move away as soon as he realized what was happening. Patrick moved his other hand to Pete’s waist and realized that Pete was still leaning over him, that _couldn’t_ be good for the musician’s back—

“Can you stop making out with Pete Wentz for a second so that I can go back to sleep? God, you guys are gross.”

Joe’s outburst caused both men to immediately pull apart. Pete almost looked sheepish, but Patrick was focused on Joe, who didn’t seem whatsoever phased by the fact that _Pete fucking Wentz_ was in his dorm room and making out with his roommate. Patrick was sure that would change by morning when Joe was no longer half-asleep.

“I should go anyway,” Pete told him. Patrick couldn’t hide his disappointment, because _of course_ Pete wouldn’t want to stay with him.

“Right. Umm, so sorry about that, you can for—”

“No, I mean, I should go because it’s the middle of the night and Andy doesn’t know where I am and your roommate is trying to sleep, and I don’t want to cause problems for you by being here in the morning,” the musician explained. “But I want to see you again.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I meant everything I said about you.”

Patrick wasn’t sure what to say. “Oh. Umm, well, sorry for the rant, then? And the song, god that was a mean song—”

“It was totally deserved, given the circumstances. And had you never written that song I might never have learned how talented you are, what a beautiful voice you have, or how passionate you are about music. I mean, I probably would have noticed that you’re gorgeous as soon as I showed up to the date, but I wouldn’t have had the experience of _really_ getting to know you the way I have because of this, so…I’m not saying that it’s a good thing this all happened, but…”

“Yeah,” Patrick nodded. “I get it. And I learned something about you too.”

“I know, that I’m kinda fucked in the head—”

Pete’s voice sound so dark and full of self-hatred – they were definitely going to have to talk about the bipolar thing eventually, because Patrick had a feeling that Pete was _definitely_ being too hard on himself for something that he couldn’t control – that he couldn’t let the musician say another word about it. “You’re not. But no, that’s not what I learned.”

“Oh?” Pete’s interest was clearly piqued. “Then what?”

“Well, first the song and now this? Pete Wentz is all about grand gestures. Pete Wentz is a _romantic._ ”

“Oh, well I could have told you—”

Whatever Pete was going to say next was cut off by Patrick leaning up and placing another kiss on his lips, softer than the previous one but somehow filled with so much more passion. Patrick was spilling out everything he wanted Pete to understand in that one simple kiss, and judging by the way Pete smiled beneath his lips, he was sure that the message had been received. However, it did occur to Patrick that Joe was still there and trying to sleep, and that it was three o’clock in the morning, so he pulled back before either of them could deepen the kiss. Of course, that didn’t stop him from smiling as though he had just won the fucking lottery.

“Call me?” Patrick asked.

“Will you actually talk to me this time?” Pete responded. Damn, it probably actually _had_ been Pete on the other end that one time. Now that Patrick thought about it, he knew the man’s voice from interviews and should have recognized it.

“Yes, I promise. As long as you promise not to miss our next date.”

“We have a next date?”

Patrick nodded. “Yes, we do,” he explained, “and you better be there because I won’t be so forgiving a second time.”

The musician closed the distance between them one more time, giving Patrick a quick goodbye peck on the lips. “I promise,” he said as he pulled back and moved to climb back up on Patrick’s desk. He wasn’t going to climb back out the window, was he? That was pretty much a disaster waiting to happen. Patrick still wasn’t sure how the man had even managed to climb _up_ , but it was undoubtedly going to be more difficult to climb down when he couldn’t even see beneath him.

“Pete, I _really_ won’t forgive you if you fall and break your neck before we even get to the date. Go out the door — and you better call me in the morning.”

“I will,” he promised. “This won’t go to hell again, you’ll see.”

As Pete slipped out the door – Patrick really hoped that everyone was asleep and that nobody would recognize the musician sneaking out of their building – and Patrick finally got a chance to replay everything in his head, he wasn’t sure what to even think. Laying back down on his pillow and staring at the ceiling, he was _sure_ that it probably _would_ go to hell again – he and Pete were both passionate but stubborn people – but would it be worth it? They would undoubtedly argue sometimes but would Patrick be willing to go through that? Relationships certainly weren’t supposed to be easy, and they had already worked out step one: getting your heads out of your collective asses and _communicating_.

Maybe they had potential after all. God, how had a simple contest resulted in all _this?_

“Will you stop fucking thinking about Pete Wentz and let me sleep?” came Joe’s voice across the room. “And don’t you dare fucking jerk off or you can sleep at _his_ place from now on.”

Well, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Fun fact:** The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes is actually my favourite Fall Out Boy song, and [I have a tattoo of the first couple lines on my arm](https://padawanryan.tumblr.com/post/188131314803/i-wanna-tattoo-you-on-me-just-look-what-you). Despite that, the selection of this song as Patrick's in the fic was coincidental — the song popped into my head one morning in the shower when I was thinking about the fic, so I started planning the rest of the fic around that.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on social media: **padawanryan** on [Tumblr](https://padawanryan.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PadawanRyan), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/padawanryan/). ✌️


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